


Caught

by oswaldfromtarget



Category: Batman (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5165207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswaldfromtarget/pseuds/oswaldfromtarget





	Caught

Jim Napier was the kind of man any kid on the street would’ve been proud to call their dad. He hosted the game day parties and provided plenty of beer; his wife Florence made food and lots of it, waiting on her husband hand and foot, doted on him. Jim was popular on the street because everyone wanted him or wanted to be him. None of them thought his family deserved him.

The truth is, they didn’t: they deserved better.

None of them saw the fear in Florence’s eyes when the door would burst open and her name was called in his silky, bass-toned voice. None of them saw the bruises on her wrists, her stomach, her knees, her face sometimes- the ones she covered up so often she consistently overheated.

None of them had any idea anything was wrong in the Napier household until a quiet July evening, a weekday. The sun hadn’t completely set yet and the small, lanky figure of Jim and Florence’s seven year old son stumbled into the house in hopes his mother wouldn’t lecture him for being out so late.

Instead, he had a chore: he was drying the dishes for her after she washed them. She scooped some of the bubbles from the soapy water and dropped them on his nose. They shared a laugh, a smile, but didn’t say much. The two of them didn’t always have to communicate with words to bond (which very much helped her raise him when he was a baby).

With just the slam of a screen door, their giggles ended abruptly. They stood up straighter; their smiles faded. The two of them froze, feeling an icy chill down their spines as the drunk, angry man stumbled into the kitchen, “Florence!”

“Jack, why don’t you go on to bed?” She ran a hand through his copper hair, a hand that was ripped away by her husband.

“No, Jack, you can stay here since everyone knows your mother’s a damn floozy anway!”

Jack backed away from his parents, to the opposite side of the kitchen. His hazel eyes widened in terror. Jack’s parents’ feuds always frightened him and he hated when he had to witness what happened when any disagreement occurred. The screams got louder, the shoves got more intense, and all Jack could do was cover his ears and try to look away.

“Did you just think I wouldn’t notice the way you look at him?! I go work my ass off for ten hours a day and while I’m doing that you’re sleeping with the grocer! How do I know you’re not doing this in my bed?!”

Florence cowered, bawling her eyes out, not because she was caught cheating- she wasn’t sorry for that. She was afraid her husband might actually kill her this time for what she did. She was sure he would because of the look of rage mixed with pain in his eyes as he smashed a plate on the checkered floor.

“How could you, Florence!” He sobbed, “Was I not good enough for you?”

Ringing through their ears was a piercing silence, interrupted once by a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance. 

“Tell me,” Jim’s silvery voice cracked when he held back tears, “Was I? What could I have done?” Jim always played the victim: whether he was the victim or not, he would always, always pretend to be the victim. He would then always, always become the villain.

This time was the worst- since the newly washed kitchen knife was involved.

A knock on the door interrupted Jim in a moment of heated passion: he froze at the sudden noise and dropped the dripping newly red knife on the floor. As he walked towards the front door of the house, it was like he snapped back into the normal charming self he was outside of closed doors; he didn’t seem angry anymore and that didn’t make sense to Jack.

He opened the door to reveal the knocker: their next door neighbor, Phineas Kennedy, a social worker. Most people like Jim Napier would be terrified of the idea of a social worker knocking at their door- especially minutes after brutally murdering their wife; but Jim held a peculiar confidence as if there was no bloodbath to hide in the kitchen.

“Phineas, what a surprise! What are you doing here?”

“I, um… I heard some noise… Is everything alright?”

“Oh, sure, everything’s fine,” He insisted, blood dripping off his hand, “Was there something you needed?”

“Y-yeah, is Florence here? My wife tried to call her earlier, but she must’ve been out.”

“Yeah,” Jim spat with a bitter grin, “She must’ve been out. She’s currently… unavailable, but I’ll pass on the message.”

“Jim, is that-” Phineas stuttered, now noticing the red liquid dripping to the floor, “What is that?” A laugh ripped through Jim’s throat: he had no idea how to cover this up. He had been caught.


End file.
